


Straight A's

by archerkink (runawaygirl)



Series: Boys Flirting [1]
Category: DCU (Animated), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Domestic, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, shameless flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:39:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawaygirl/pseuds/archerkink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mostly Plotless. Alternative title: Boys Flirting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (i)

Red Robin presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose. At least the archer left the ends on his cape unsinged this time. Blue’s already gone ahead, and Impulse is probably at base already, or they’d both found an inconspicuous-looking roadside motel to muck about in. Still no word from Nightwing.

At least he has his cycle.

Arsenal watches in glee as the fire rises up from the hole in the ground they’d discovered as an underground cavern-turned-lexcorp-lab. He was lucky this mission called for such heavy-grade explosives. Otherwise, Red Robin would’ve had to find something else for him to blow up.

Red punches a code into his wrist and the engine of the R-cycle rumbles faintly in the distance. Arsenal whistles when the bike stops in front of them.

“Do you have a ride, Arsenal?” He asks.

“Nope.” he grins. “Figured I’d hitch one with you.”

Red Robin knows Arsenal has a bike. He knows he’s fond of the thing as well, armed to the caps it is. How could he not be? But before Tim had...disappeared, for lack of a better word, he’d ridden pillion on Robin’s cycle.

He flicks a switch on his bike, and takes his spare helmet out of the compartment. He tosses it up to Arsenal, who grins wider. “Can I drive?” he asks.

“No.”

It’s routine, like nothing’s changed. “Aw, come on, Red. I always get the bitch seat.”

“Sort out your own mode of transport then.” He pops his helmet on and straddles his bike. Once Roy’s warmth sinks down along his back and his arms are around Red Robin’s waist, he revs up the engine and lifts off.

\--

They’re riding for hours before Roy makes use of Red Robin’s comm.’s in the helmets, asking where the hell Impulse had gotten to, which crappy motel they’d be staying at for the night. It was a three day trek, after all. Red Robin murmurs back that they’d get word when they got word.

Roy falls into a torrent of grumbles concerning their other team members sex-lives and why sending them ahead was a bad idea.

“I swear to god, Red, if this place has paper-thin walls--”

“Like the last place?”

“Like the last fucking place, you’re gonna have to hold my hair out of my face while I vomit into the toilet.”

He can’t help the smile behind his helmet. “Heh. Noted.”

Roy’s quiet for a moment. “Too bad Gar couldn’t come, huh?”

“Hm. I did talk to him, already. He’s getting to know the new recruits.”

“What’d’you think of them, by the way? That Starfire is damn hot--“

“She could probably kill you, Arsenal. With her hair.”

Roy sighs happily. Red Robin snorts.

“I’m more concerned about Ravager.”

“Who, Rose? Why? She’s great. Kicked my ass last week while sparring. She’s got skills.”

“Be that as it may, she’s reckless. Almost as reckless as you are.”

“Part of my charm. And besides, you have my back. You’ll probably have hers, too.”

Red Robin hums. “I don’t know how I keep getting stuck with you dangerous types.”

Roy sneers. “You fucking love it, runt.”

“If you two ladies are done gossiping--“ Bart says into his comm., “We’ve found a place about a mile away from where you are now. They even have cheese-steak fajitas. Your favourite, Red!”

“Thanks, Bart.” Red Robin chuckles. They’ll probably be finished by the time they get to the place. He drives on for a bit, noting in the way Roy’s arms relax momentarily, then swerves into a cornfield. Roy yelps, then laughs.

“You always fucking get me with that-“

Red Robin snorts, slows down to a stop. Roy steps off his cycle and waits for him to fiddle with the snatches on the front and opens the compartment storing the civvies. When he turns around to hand Roy his, the archer already has his kevlar stripped off. He turns around, giving Red his privacy to change. Temporarily, anyway. Tim is halfway out of his tights when Roy starts talking.

“You know, you tell me to get my own bike, yet you always seem to have a spare change of clothes for me. Where’ve you been, by the way? I didn’t realised they had stock Robins.”

Tim tugs his jeans on, then makes a start on his trainers. “Someone has to plan ahead. And we don’t.”

Roy hums, but drops it. “Can I drive?”

“No.”

\--

Roy tries his best to throw Tim off while he’s driving as per usual, and Tim’s bat-training, coupled with his experience with Roy’s antics, make it impossible to faze him. He’s even started mirror Roy’s words as he speaks them.

“And, I bet then he’d--“

“‘Sink his dick into his freshly-lubed asshole.’ I’ve heard this one before.”

Roy snorts. “I think I liked it better when you blushed and stammered, runt.”

“Me, too.” Bart says through his comm. “And for the record, I don’t ‘moan like a wanton whore.’ That’s all Jaime. --Ow! Sorry, babe! But this asshole’s writing fanfiction of us, and I gotta make sure he gets the details ri---Ow! Baby, that hurt--”

Tim switches off the comm., narrowing in on the motel. The word ‘quaint’ comes to mind, especially with the cars parked outside. He stalls to a stop, letting Roy hop off before tugging off his helmet and switching on the security on the bike. He stretches out, rolls his shoulder and turns around.

“You want your own room?” he asks.

“Nah.” Roy answers. “I’ll grab whatever Bart didn’t eat. You go ahead, get us a room.”

\--

The woman at the front desk looks wary of him when he approaches. Tim supposes it’s the glasses, so he takes them off and gives her his most polite smile.

“There’s only a single left.” she says. “Your...friends took the last double.”

Tim accepts the key with a smile and vaguely wonders how many roadtripping teens she’s had to put up with. He wanders up the stairs, dragging the duffel he’d transferred their clothes into. He can hear movement in the rooms on the right, quiet, shuffled movements and murmuring voices. Decidedly not young and male. Maybe a family on vacation? Or a few students on their way home for the holidays?

He wanders to the left of the building, where everything is suspiciously quiet, before he finds his room and unlocks the door. Single bed, curtains open. Kettle on the counter, next to a sink. Connected bathroom, small, but with a decent enough shower and toiletries.

Sufficient. It’d do.

And as for Roy, well-- they’ve shared smaller beds than this. Of course, that particular time of his life was roughly two and half years ago. And Roy’s gotten sizably bigger. Tim likes to think he has, too.

He drops the duffel and looks out the window. Two parked cars, one van. Either a large family, or group travelling cross-country. He sighs, wiping at his eyes. Bart had already bombarded him with questions about what had happened and where he’d gone. Jaime had been less impatient, at least. And he’d seen Arsenal at the Watchtower, sitting with Nightwing and Batgirl, while he’d presented his case in front of the Justice League.

Bruce was back though, and that thought made his bones feel solid for the first time in forever.

He hears Arsenal jogging up the stairs before he hears the knock on the door. He opens it. Roy drops his armful of food onto the counter and unzips his top immediately.

“Bart actually left you a fajita.” he says, opening the windows. “Heh, one. They do breakfast, too. Eggs and all that.”

Tim nods briefly. “Good. We’ll leave after breakfast then.”

“Sure. Just one bed?”

“Why, you got a problem?” Tim gives Roy a cursory glance. “I suppose you have gained weight.”

“Oh, fuck you, runt.”

Tim smirks. He’d missed this.

 

\--

Tim is starting to regret being in this...predicament. He’d forgotten that Roy mostly slept with all the windows open, and also semi-nude. Though he suspects that Roy’s being polite by leaving his boxer shorts on.

Still. It’s freezing.

Somehow, Roy’s sleeping soundly on his side, with his back facing Tim, and it’s much broader than before. And the tattoos. As far as Tim knows, they weren’t there before. He’d seen them peeking out of Arsenal’s uniform earlier--

Roy shifts, and Tim shuts his eyes a fraction of a second too late. The redhead chuckles, and the bed shifts. Tim sighs, then opens his eyes. Roy has his head propped up on the palm of his gun-arm, and his smirk is sleepy.

Tim arches a brow. Roy mimics him. He gives in to his urge to scowl.

Roy’s laughs outright. “Aw, what’s the matter? You cold?”

Son of a-- “Shut the damn window, Harper.”

“Yes, sir.” Roy snorts and moves off the bed to do it. He leaves the window on the other side of the room open though. He plops back down onto his back over the blankets.

“So, where have you been? For the last two years, I mean.”

Tim tugs at the blankets, prompting Roy to lift his hips so he could drag the sheets from underneath him. “You know where I was. Looking for Batman.”

“After he was shot. In the head. By an alien death-god.”

Tim glares at him from under the sheets he’d bunched together around him. “I found him.” he says. “And J-- the real Robin.” Whatever falling out Ra’s al Ghul and Lex Luther had, at least the technology used to keep their abductees under ice was the same. Tim only hopes there wasnt a clone involved when he found Jason in one of the League compounds in Ethiopia, of all places-

“It’s ok, I know his name.” Roy licks his lips and looks at the ceiling. His hair is still cut close to his head. It’s patterned now, ridges along the back, behind his ears. “Nightwing was worried sick about you.”

Tim shuts his eyes. “He didn’t believe me.” he mutters.

Roy doesn’t say anything, and Tim’s close to falling asleep. He jolts from his semi-conscious state when the redhead speaks again. “Jason’s a real pain in the ass. Good kid, though.”

Tim smiles. “Saw a bit of yourself in him, huh?”

“Yeah.” Roy says softly. “I do.”

Tim blinks his eyes open, taking in Roy’s melancholic smile. He recalls his words, and it hits him like bucket of cold water. He’d forgotten. He’d fucking forgotten about the trauma the archer-turned-weapon had suffered after being abducted for eight years. Jason had been gone a comparably scant two--and he’d woken up to Bruce, his mentor, his father being dead-

“Tim, stop.” Roy jolts him from his thoughts. “I can fucking hear you panic from here. Calm down.”

Tim breathes, then opens his mouth to speak. “How’s therapy?” He almost wants to hit himself for that. He doesn’t even know if Roy still goes to-

“Fine. Much better.” That seems to be all he has to say on the matter. He raises his gun-arm instead. “Virgil’s been helping me with this. Modifications and maintenance. Stuff you used to do.”

Tim refuses to feel that particular pang of guilt. He found Jason. He found proof of Bruce being alive, even if his role in bringing him back hadn’t been particularly important. He was Batman. Batman was going to come back regardless. “I’m not apologising--”

“I’m not asking you to. Jesus, runt. Give me some credit.”

It’s still freezing. Tim curls in closer to the sheets. The sun’s starting to rise. When did that happen? He shuts his eyes. 

“Actually, Jason told me an interesting little tidbit about you.”

And since Tim can hear the smirk in his voice, he doesn’t bother opening his eyes. “What’s that.” he says blandly.

“It seems the former-boy wonder waxes his legs.”

Tim doesn’t open his eyes or move or breath. He’s quite proud of the extent of his control, until of course, the blush creeps up the back of his neck and spreads across his face and to his ears. His snarl turns into an embarrassed glower on the way to his lips. Roy bursts into wheezing laughter that makes Tim wonder just how much he does and doesn’t smoke now--

He punches the redhead’s side. “Shut up.”

He turns over, back to the redhead. Roy’s laughter dies down to quiet snickers. It’s quiet up until the rhythmic thumping starts in the other room, coupled with muffled moans. Roy’s laughter starts up again, while Tim contemplates suffocating himself with his pillow.

\--

Tim wakes up first because the room is unbearably cold. He shivers in his cocoon of blankets, tucking his feet under the covers in a fruitless attempt to warm up. Roy has the nerve to snore beside him, completely unfazed by the cold, throwing off heat like a furnace. 

Tim sighs and gathers himself up, blankets and all. He might as well get up and shower. He has that report to fill out before he returns to the tower.

\--

“You closed the window.”

Tim doesn’t look up from his laptop screen. He doesn’t slow his typing either. “Good morning.”

Roy takes a seat across from him. “Bart and Jaime decided to go again.”

“I didn’t need to know that.”

“I felt the need to share.” Roy smirks, then reaches over to drag Tim’s mug across the table. “You did leave without waking me.” He quirks an eyebrow before downing most of Tim’s coffee. It’s gotten lukewarm, but he doesn’t seem to care. “And you fell asleep while I was talking. Pretty rude.”

“I did tell you to shut up.” Tim says pointedly.

“I guess hearing the other two humping in the other room was kinda like a lullaby--”

Tim throws his hands up. “Roy, oh my god.”

Roy snickers. “Gotcha. And it’s not even 9 yet.”

Tim pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to calm his blush. He’d left his glasses upstairs, so the only defence he has is his sleeve. And he already knows from experience that hiding behind his sleeve will make Roy triple his efforts to get under Tim’s skin. He goes back to typing.

“You know,” Roy interrupts. “I’m still kinda pissed off that you left.”

Tim arches a brow without taking his eyes off his screen. “I can’t count the times you left us for extended periods of time, Roy.” he says coolly.

“Yeah, but I was auxillary.”

“So was I.” Tim counters. After Jason supposedly died, Bruce, Dick and Babs had been reluctant to let Tim join Young Justice. 

“You were always around when I was.”

Tim smirks. “Nightwing said you behaved better when I was around.”

Roy snorts. “What can I say? You’re a total enabler. At least I know I’ll get to blow something up with you.” he grins. “Guess it stops me being so antsy.”

“And cranky.” Tim says.

“Hey.”

“You’re really going to deny that?”

“Shut up, runt.” Roy says fondly. “God, I missed you.”

Tim makes a typo but keeps marching his fingers across the keyboard.

“I thought you’d been abducted.” Tim stops typing and looks up. Roy’s smile is sour. “I got real...real fuckin’ worried, Red.”

Tim bites down on his tongue hard to stop himself from apologising. He watches the forced smile on Roy’s face twist slowly into a grimace. He furrows his brow, and Roy drops his eyes. “How’s your uncle?” he asks. “You guys get out of Bludhaven okay?”

Tim stares blankly for a moment, then remembers. “Oh. Um, yeah.”

Roy gives him an exaggerated suspicious face, complete with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. Tim coughs out an embarrassed laugh. “I...uh, faked having an uncle. So Nightwing wouldn’t worry.”

“So you live alone? In Gotham?” The looks on Roy’s face is close to pity, and makes Tim’s skin crawl, so he returns his attention to his laptop screen.

“Yes.” He has been ‘living alone’ for the best part of three years, technically.

“So why haven’t you invited me over?” The redhead’s tone is near accusatory.

Tim can feel a headache brewing by the time he hears Jaime and Bart stumble down the stairs.


	2. (ii)

It figures that, on one of Gotham’s few sunny days, Tim spends the day cooped up in the Drake’s apartment mostly asleep. He’s yet to get started on any work on the Batcomputer’s mainframe, or filling out reports, or play catch up with the TV shows he’s missed, or anything else he’d promised himself he’d get started on. After they’d gotten back to the harbour from their three-day trek, (in which Jaime and Bart slowed their pace either as a courtesy or because they needed a little vacation together from anything pressing) Nightwing had been there to greet them. 

Tim isn’t ready for the manor. He hasn’t been since--

Mr Pennyworth was more than accomodating towards him. He’d asked abotut Tim’s diet, his favourite dishes, and if there was anything he could do to make him feel more at home. Jason had been eager to show Tim around, and Dick hadn’t let go of him for a solid three minutes. He’s been pushing for Tim to move in with them, but-

Tim really isn’t ready for the manor.

He drags himself out of his bed and pulls on his s-shield hoodie. He thinks about picking up the jeans on the floor of his bedroom. He hasn’t worn trousers in his apartments since before his parents died. He yawns while flicking on the switch on his coffee maker. The clock on the wall says it’s a little past seven in the evening. The sun’s starting to set.

Tim always feels a little sluggish if he has coffee after five in the evening. It wakes him up, sure, but after the initial high, he becomes a little akin to a zombie before he falls into a coma-like state. It’s probably not going to help him be productive for the rest of the night, but it’ll open a window in which he can power through most things. Plus, it’s his night off, anyway. 

He’s about to open up his sliding doors and settle on the terrace overlooking the city with his mug of coffee, when his phone buzzes. It’s an unfamiliar noise, but he remembers when he’d been spotted, promptly tackled, and quizzed on his whereabouts for the last few years. He remembers giving them the number to his personal cell, because, well--

He needs connections, right? Rebuilding a life is hard. It’s even harder on your own. He thinks of Roy, then shakes his head. He’s got a year of rebuilding ahead of him, before any major responsibilities make themselves known in his civilian life. He checks the Caller ID on his phone.

Speak of the devil.

He answers. “Hello,”

“What’s up, Red?” he’s cheerful.

Tim snorts. “Calling to bother me on weekdays as well, now?”

“You know it.” He can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. “A three-day weekend isn’t nearly enough time to drive you to tear out your hair.”

Tim makes his way to his terrace. “Well, you are the reason I keep it short.”

“Am I the reason you keep your leg hair short, too?”

It’s a good thing Roy can’t see Tim choke on his coffee. “Do lines like that usually work?”

“Ehh, Fifty-fifty.” he replies. “Hey, listen…”

Tim hums around the rim of his mug. 

“So, I’m looking up at this hot little brunet number, staring out his balcony with a smile on his face.”

Tim’s face falls a little. 

“Yeah, that’s right. Down here.”

Tim searches the grounds below, weaves through the cars and cycles with his eyes and spots a figure in a hood near the gates. Presumably Roy. He waves. Tim blinks, balances his phone between his shoulder and ear and raises a hand to wave back weakly.

“Well, are you gonna let me up?”

Tim gapes, then fumbles with the phone. “Um, yeah. Just, uh…okay, I’ll be right down.” He hangs up and rushes to go grab his jeans out of his room. He swallows his sudden panic and rushes out of the door.

When he gets downstairs, Mrs MacIlvaine is already letting Roy in through the gates. He’s hovering rather awkwardly and Mrs Mac is giving him one her disapproving looks. She turns to Tim.

“You know this young man, Tim?”

“Yes, Mrs Mac. He’s a friend.”

Her lips tighten into a thin line. “Alright then.” She gives him a narrowed eyed, near-piteous look. Of course, the last time he had friends over, they were ten years old, and a completely different kind of rambunctious. At least it’s only Roy’s haircut she saw, and not his tattoos. And his coat doesn’t smell too badly of nicotine--

Once they’re safely behind Tim’s locked door, he gathers and puts every fibre of his being into a withering glare that Roy deflects with a wide smirk of his own.

“Surprise!” he says.

“What are you doing here, Roy?”

“I came to be a thorn in your side.” he says with an unabashed grin. He deliberately scuffs his trainers on Tim’s carpet and falls back onto his sofa, trailing dirt on the white. “Nightwing gave me your address.”

Sometimes Tim isn’t sure if Dick’s trying to get him more involved with the cowls and capes crowd, or if he’s trying to drive him to a life of high blood pressure and heart palpitations. 

Roy shrugs off his coat. He’s wearing a thin t-shirt underneath, that will undoubtedly come off if his aversion to heat is anything to go by. Thank god the thermostat is hidden away behind a shelf, or Tim would probably have to dress for the arctic. In his own home.

“So,” Roy says, knocking him out of his thoughts. “When’s patrol start?”

\--

Red Robin catches sight of Robin tailing them before he pounces. Jason and Dick had a tradition of surprise rooftop tag. Then it was Dick and Tim. Since there’s three of them now, team-ups are most certainly a thing.

While he and Arsenal are taking a breather after interrupting a bar fight and successfully interfering with a robbery in progress, he flicks on his comm., tunes into the frequency the bats and birds use, and finds the line silent. No one’s called for back up, it’s a slow night. He doesn’t hear Robin’s steps so much as he feels them in air. Gotham has a way of acquainting one with subtle changes in the night.

The second he hears that cape flutter, he sidesteps left and Robin crashes into Arsenal.

While they bicker and throw curses around, Tim checks the grid for the cases he would have been starting tomorrow. Robin clambers up to his feet. “Sorry, boss. I was aiming for Red.”

“Jesus, do you usually attack your allies, kid?”

“Nah, man. It’s a Robin thing.” Tim can feel Jason’s grinning at his back and smiles a little himself. It’d been Jason’s favourite phrase since he got back. “Ow! Hey, what the hell-“

“Where the hell were you this weekend? Ravager’s been looking for you.”

“I was with Batman! I told you.” he drags out the ‘you’, and Tim smiles to himself where they can’t see. “Hey, Red, is this jackass bothering you? I can totally take him off your hands if you wanna head home.”

“Hnh. I need to use him tonight actually, Robin.”

Roy makes a sound of protest that they both ignore. “Isn’t it your night off, though?” Even with the mask, Tim can see his brow furrow.

Red Robin turns, shrugs behind his cape. “Crime doesn’t seem to sleep. Why should I?”

Robin gets a look on his face, the same look he got when Tim nabbed him from a League base and promised to take him home to Gotham. The same look he got when Tim protested viciously to Bruce being dead. The same looks of awe he gets now and again when Tim does, or says, something…battish. Or robinly. Then he breaks out into a bashful grin and he tries his darnedest to suppress. “Yeah, okay. Um, are you--“ they’re alerted to Batman requesting Robin’s aid near the Solomon Wayne Courthouse. Jason smiles sheepishly. “B’s calling.” he says to Roy. “Gotta run!”

He jumps off the building with all the grace of a bird, leaving Red Robin on the rooftop with Arsenal.

Roy snorts. “Pain in the ass, isn’t he.”

“You love him.” Tim smirks. “We all do.”

“Why are we out if it was your night off?” Roy asks, voice suddenly soft. “I wouldn’t have minded just hanging at yours for the night.”

Tim shrugs. “I probably would’ve went anyway.” 

“Yeah, but, rest is important, man.” Roy scratches the side of his neck. “Might--I don’t know, might throw you off your game.”

Tim throws him a smirk. “Good thing you have my back, then, hm?” He perches himself on the edge of the roof. “Follow me.”

He jumps, and Arsenal follows him down.

\--

Red Robin breaks into a cold sweat when the empty warehouse he had planned to plant traps in was full. And not only full, but full of children. Shit. The trafficker was early. Arsenal’s frowning next to him. 

There isn't anyone else in the area. Red knows from days of monitoring that they weren’t planning to be around with the victims they were taking. So, besides the lock on the warehouse door, there isn’t any security at all. Tim taps into the GCPD line, gives the information and the location and calls for several buses, then leads on, with Arsenal following behind.

“What do you need me to do?” he asks, when Red on his knees working away the lock. 

Tim considers. “Right now, we need to get these people safety, and wait for the police.” There’s an unregistered speedboat to his right. 

Once they swing the door open, the entire room erupts into quiet murmurs. They hurry them out. A lot of them don’t look older than ten. He watches Arsenal grit his teeth when a little girl bursts into tears. He draws her up into his arms and Tim ushers them away form the water. It’s an entire classroom of children in total. 

The GCPD pulls up a scant five minutes later, when the children are less unnerved and more enamoured by the vigilantes who came in to save them. Arsenal managed to make the teary-eyed little girl in his arms giggle. He presses a kiss to her cheek before handing her over to the paramedics. 

Red is infitively grateful that Dectective Montoya is on the scene. “The man we’re looking for is Tom Nelson, 36. He’s a teacher at a local elementary school about two blocks down. You know it?”

“Yes, I know it. I’m assuming the warehouse is under his name?”

“It is.”

Renee frowns. “Doesn’t think ahead, does he?”

“He’s new at this. Straggler from Bullock’s case about a month back.”

“Ah.” she nods. “Thank you for your help, bla bla bla, we’ll take it fro here.” she nods at Roy. “Arsenal.”

\--

They overlook Dectective Montoya at work, and Roy keeps an extra keen on eye on the paramedic holding the little girl he’d been holding. 

Tim spots hurried movement near the boats. “Arsenal.”

“Yeah, Red?”

“Get ready to blow something up.”

Arsenal double-takes and looks where Red is looking. There’s a man sprinting for one of the motorboats banked beside the warehouse. “The unlicensed boat, yeah?”

“That’s the one. Just the engine. No fatalities.”

“Bat-town. Gotcha.” Arsenal’s arm clicks faintly and Red has just enough time to see his frown harden before his vision goes bright. There’s a faint boom, he had hit before the engine started.

Red frowns, watching Nelson tread water and then wade towards Detective Montoya and her handcuffs. “No explosives?”

Arsenal smirks. “Bat-town. You can trust me.”

Tim closes his eyes. When he opens them again, Roy’s peering at him, quizzled. Tim fights a smile. “It was really fortunate you were around today.”

Roy smiles and, blessedly, says nothing.

\--

Somehow, Roy convinces Tim to eat out in a diner nearby, despite being in costume. Tim blames exhaustion and the fact that coffee makes him lag after a while. It’s near 4 in the morning, though, and no one is around but the lady behind the counter and the chef. They take Arsenal’s money anyway.

Another thing Tim can’t afford to eat without feeling sluggish and off-game are burgers. Once upon a time he’d be happy enough to chomp through any amount of fast food without so much as batting his eyeslashes. Of course, that was before his metabolism started kicking in. He has to keep regular to stay in shape.

Roy’s built for bulk and strength, along with being unfairly light on his feet. Tim envies that. If he couldn’t be beefy, couldn’t he at least be speedy? As he contemplates this, Tim lifts the bun off of his burger and removes the pickle. He sees Roy’s mouth twitch briefly and looks up. He’s already finished both of his burgers, along with his fries. Tim offers up the offending vegetable. He grins, swipes it from his hand and pops it into his mouth, then goes back to stealing Tim’s fries and slurping his shake.

He makes it through about half the burger before giving up. Roy’s laughs at him because he’s an asshole, and finishes it for him because he’s still an asshole. Tim leaves the diner feeling significantly warmer than when he walked in. 

\--

Tim thinks very hard about going to bed once he’s showered and Roy’s made himself at home in the guestroom, but finds, once again, that he can’t. It’s near five in the morning when he flicks on the television at a low volume and starts to lazily catch up with shows he’s missed, lying back on his couch. He’d tossed off his trouser the second he was certain Arsenal was asleep.

He forces himself not to tense when he hears bare feet slapping noiselessly against the tiles in the kitchen. Roy peers in at him from behind the couch. He frowns. “You didn’t come to bed.”

Tim arches a brow at him, trying very hard to ignore the fact that he isn’t presently wearing pants. Roy walks around the couch. He’s wearing a pair of sweats that, judging by the crooked waistband, he’d tossed on as a second thought. Short hairs peek out from underneath the legs, and Tim realises that they're his sweats. 

He’s also too tired to argue about it. Roy lifts his legs and sits down, dragging them onto his lap.

“What’re we watching?”

Tim shifts a little, just enough to face him without straining too much. “The Walking Dead.”

Roy nods, watches the screen for a bit, before asking, “Who’s that guy?”

“The Governer.” Tim grumbles.

The redhead picks up on the way he’d answer that and he smirks a little. “He seems…pretty cool.”

Tim’s mouth moves before his mind registers it.

\--

He’s almost finished praising and cursing the characters he likes, the ones he doesn’t like, the writers of the show, mentions the games in brief and can’t seem to make himself stop until he sees Roy’s wide, happy smirk. He’d been having a one-sided argument with himself.

He trails off, suddenly self-conscious, and hopes Roy can’t sense the embarassed flush rise up from the back of his neck. “Uhh, well. You know.” he finishes awkwardly.

He’s pretty sure Roy’s trying not to laugh when the redhead says, “No, I didn’t actually. I had no idea the Governer was such an asshole. Nor did I know that the writers were, uh, ‘shitting all over Andrea’s character.’ Thank you very much for enlightening me.”

Tim shoves at him with his leg. “Shut up, Harper.” He becomes suddenly aware that Roy had been rubbing his legs since he started ranting.

Roy grins. “I totally knew you were a fanboy the second we met. You looked at Nightwing like he was a fucking unicorn-" That, and he’d been wearing a Superboy hoodie when he’d arrived here earlier. And if he’d rooted through his closer for sweats, he’d probably seen the Green Lantern t-shirt. He only hopes Roy didn’t find the themed boxers--

“Shut. Up.” He shoves again, and Roy grabs both his legs and pulls him down the couch until Tim’s ass collides with his thigh. He smirks, then rubs his face against the side of tim’s leg and hums.

Tim glares. “What?”

“Nothing. Just. Kinda stubbly.” He waggles an eyebrow.

Tim punches his side and slides away. “See if I ever go pantless around you again, jerk.”

“Aww, don’t be mad, Red, we coul--Whoa. Who’s that?”

He turns back to the screen and smirks. “That, Mr Harper, is Michonne, and way out of your league.”

\--

Tim hears someone murmur his name in his sleep, then shake his shoulder lightly. Blearily, he opens his eyes. Roy’s kneeling down in front of him, shoes and jacket on. “Hey. I’m gonna take off, okay?”

Tim blinks. “You sure you don’t want breakfast?”

He smiles a little. “Nah, I had mine. Made you something, too. I’ll see you this weekend?” he sounds hopeful.

Tim rubs his eyes, blinks some more. “Mm. Yeah, sure. Okay.”

“Great!” Roy says. He ruffles Tim’s hair. “Get some rest, okay? See you.”

Tim’s already fast asleep when he’s out the door.


	3. (iii)

Roy has been dealing with a cavity in one of his molars for the past week. According to the freshmen, it’s made him irritable and prickly to deal with, even after the recent lift in his mood since Red Robin started serving on weekends as regular, and his occasional appearances midweek.

Tim had noticed it too, if the arched eyebrow thing was anything to go by. He’d done since they’d met, and Roy had mostly translated it as a warning look. One that said something like ‘Watch it, Harper’ and ‘Tone it down.’ If he were younger, he’d keep pushing, until it prompted Tim to glare and snark at him. As it is, he’s trying to resist the urge to push.

He’d only ever used the expression with Roy. Maybe once or twice with Robin. Truth is, the toothache wasn’t what was fueling his crankiness. It’d been at least a month since he’d first stepped inside Tim’s apartment and spent the night, and he’d been much less than subtle about—

About—

Tim’s been receptive, and Roy  _knows_ he’s interested, but—

Bats, apparently, do things differently. It was near painful watching Jason try to show his interest in Rose without actually showing his interest in her. Though when Roy had teased him about it, he was met with a very angry Robin’s steel-knuckled gauntlets, and well—

Jason had been demoted to Gamma for a while after that.

The point is, he’s been antsy lately, and it’s affecting the kids on the squad. So. He does the logical thing and asks Tim out to dinner. Well, not in those words. He’d literally said  that they should ‘grab some food’ after Tim’s class with the kiddies.

Dick’s nominated Tim to teach the freshmen how being ‘covert’ works, since Roy’s definitely not going to. He’s having his first session with the kids today, so Roy has plenty of time to get the goddamn cavity sorted out. He could totally pin his restlessness on his tooth.

The familiar sound of the zeta tube being activated jolts Roy a little from his place against the wall and the automated voice announcing ‘ _Red Robin B-20’_ lifts him from his place completely. 

Clad in his mask, Tim looks pretty blank, until he sees Roy and smiles a little. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Roy feels a little heat in his chests and lets it show in his eyes. “All set?”

His smile tightens and he shrugs. “I suppose.”

Roy lowers his head. “You nervous?”

Tim purses his lips, careful, apprehensive. “Bit.”

And Roy knows that Tim knows that he’ll tease him mercilessly if he Tim so much as breathes in an insecure way, but somehow that doesn’t stop Tim from confiding in him. Maybe because of some vain hope that Roy might actually say something reassuring as opposed to his general asshattery. Roy makes a curious humming noise. “You don’t look it.”

And there’s the miraculous little twitch in the corner of his mouth that Roy really wants to touch, maybe with his tongue, but mostly with his thumb or index finger, or something else entirely but he puts those thoughts away when Tim’s smile turns queasy and reminiscent of his Robin days.

Roy grins. “Aww. Bird boy gonna throw up?”

Tim snorts. “Shut up.” He looks a little better, still not altogether confident. Can’t have that.

"If it’s any consolation, they’re all totally afraid of you." Roy says, beaming bright in a way that usually sets Tim on edge. 

Again, his lips twitch and Roy glances at them before going back up to meet his eye..lets. 

”Oh, really.” Tim says.

"Absolutely. Especially after I told them how you kick my ass regularly for disobedience." He grins.

And there it is. The warning brow. “Go get that tooth sorted out, Harper.”

—

Roy comes back from the dentist with a numbness spread through the right side of his jaw. It was literally supposed to be a half-hour job, but dwindled on for whatever reason and it was near seven before he’d been able to leave the goddamn place. He doesn’t hate dentists so much as he hates the sterile smell of the equipment. He runs into Garfield on his way to Tim’s place and flags him down from where he’s talking animatedly to Rachel.

Rachel’s a quiet kid, and tends to look at everyone like they’re puzzles. Gar in particular. It’s kind of cute, in a sickeningly sweet hit-teen-romcom kind of way. She bids them farewell and wanders away, presumably to find Kory. Roy gives Gar the most theatric look he can without smiling.

Garfield immediately smacks his arm. “You’re an asshole.” Roy a little proud that he’s the one who taught Changeling how to swear. Though his big sister might have a few choice words to throw at him if she’d ever found out. “What do you want?”

"Aw, did I interrupt?"

“No. We weren’t  _doing_ anything.” Gar growls.

Roy ruffles the kid’s hair. “Just wanted to know how Tim’s sesh with the kids went.”

"Fine, I think. Ravager gave him some trouble. Robin came by from Gotham just to attend."

"Since when does  _Robin_  need  _Robin training_?”

"Dunno. Said Batman made him go. Anyway, why don’t you just ask Tim?"

Roy snorts. “Alright, fine. You’re free to go chase down your girlfriend.”

Gar’s retreating “she’s not my girlfriend” protests are more of a vague mutter than anything solid.

—

There’s a rule at Happy Harbour, and the Tower, and every other garrison the Young Justice team possesses. And that’s ‘no unauthorised security on bedroom doors.’ This is a rule seldom disobeyed. After all, there were locks. And the super-powered teens could easily barricade or break the doors down if so desired. Therefore the rule was read as ‘no palpable security’ and Roy and the other seniors were mostly lax about the inner security of the Harbour. Privacy is important to teenagers, after all. For various reasons.

The Tower was in San Francisco, where Nightwing spent most of his time and where Kory, Rachel and Sam left for in the evenings. Cassie spent most of her time there, too. Rose made her home at Happy Harbour, along with Roy and Garfield. Mal had a place of his own, as did Karen, but both were active members of the Harbour devision. Virgil only came by on weekends.

As a general rule, all seniors possessed mastercard that unlocked any and every door in the harbour  _without hacking_ (thank you, Robin) and Roy used it to his advantage. 

He doesn’t bother knocking on Red Robin’s door, just nods curtly at the looks he gets from Tye and Sam, swipes his card and lets himself in.

There’s a muffled humming from the attached bathroom, where Tim was probably showering off the grime of the day. Roy smirks. He hadn’t pegged Tim as a shower-singer. Nor had he expected this particular shower to last more than fifteen minutes. At his own place, he was in and out in five minutes flat, and silent.

The thing that makes Roy laugh quietly is the fact the song Tim’s humming is decidedly Enya-esque. He reclines in the bed and makes himself comfortable, whistling along. The shower stops, but the humming continues. There’s the brief sound of fabric hitting the ground and then the door opens. Heat emerges, along with Tim in a pair of boxer briefs with a towel draped around his shoulders.

He doesn’t jolt when he sees Roy lounging in his bed with his head resting back on his arms. But he does stop humming and stills all over. He has this look on his face like a cross between mortification and disbelief. Roy snickers. 

“So, a show  _before_ dinner, huh?”

Tim glares at him, then runs a hand through his wet hair. “Cute.” He stalks towards the drawers near the bed and throws the damp towel at Roy’s grinning face, even if it feels weird on his face. “Half your face isn’t working.”

“ _Numbness_.” Roy protests, tossing the towel to the floor in favour of watching Tim dress. Once he’s pulled his jeans on, he stops. Roy realises it’s deliberate when he tears his eyes away from his ass and back up to meet his eyes over Tim’s shoulder. He swallows a little because the look he’s getting is really fucking intense. Like hacking-motion-sensors intense, and then Tim gives him a narrow-eyed smile.

Roy can’t help but smile back, or at least try to and becomes painfully aware of the numbness and  _fuck._

Tim’s laughing at him. “This is going to be so. Much.  _Fun_.” he says, pulling on a shirt. 

Roy scowls and covers his face with his robotic hand. “Oh, fuck _off_.” he says. “I knew a picked a bad day to get this done.” he groans, collapsing back into the pillows.

“I’m not going to tease you relentlessly, Harper.” Tim says, somewhere out of Roy’s line of sight. “I’m not  _you.”_

“Aww, Red doesn’t wanna hurt my feelings?” Roy shoots up onto his feet and follows Tim out the door. “That’s sweet. You wax your legs in there too or what?” He says, loud enough for the hallways’ other occupants to hear.

“Why are you so obsessed with my legs?” Tim retorts, just as loud. “Creep.”

“I resent that. I’m a hero, not a creep.” Roy protests, following Tim past the peanut gallery at the console.

“You  _look_  like a pushy thug.” Tim replies. “And you could try a little harder to  _not_ give my landlady a heart-attack.”

“Wasn’t there a phrase? Something about books and judging?”

Tim smirks. “Jerk.” and that’s affectionate enough to make Roy’s throat a little tight.

“Runt. Fucking get moving before I set something ablaze, okay?”

—

“So,” Roy grins, once they’re on track, making their way down to the admittedly skeevier parts of the Harbour town. “Enya?”

“It was a _gift_.” Tim stresses. “And like  _your_ taste in music is much better. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the CD’s you sneak into my collection. What are you, an eighth-grader with with daddy issues?”

“Metal is still better than  _Depeche Mode_.” Roy turns them around a suspiciously dimly lit corner complete with faulty streetlight, where the brick walls are dark and grimy, and the sidewalk is heavily littered with plastics and broken glass. Tim gives him another warning brow before letting himself follow Roy down the sidewalk.

“Really, Roy? We might as well be on Park Row.” He says, glancing at the graffiti stained walls and is that blood on the ground near Tim’s shoe?

Roy snorts, falling back to mutter, “We’ve gone for food in Gotham to places shadier than this.” Granted, everything in Gotham is perceptively shadier than anywhere else. This includes churches, parks and preschools. “And we’ve gotten out of shadier places with little or no explosives.” He grins at the glare he gets in return, holding up his hands. “I’m just saying.”

“I don’t know what food run  _you’re_ thinking of.” Tim smirks. “Because I’m having full Vietnam-style flashbacks to the incident with the hot dog stand-“

 

“Oh my god-“

“In the middle of the day-“

“For christ’s sakes-“

“We made the evening news-“

Roy scrubs down his face and fights the grin that threatens to appear. Because half his face is allegedly ‘not working’, so. He gives Tim a sour look. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

Tim snorts softly. “Where is this place, anyway? We’re going awfully far for a ‘bite to eat.’”

Yeah, Roy should’ve probably told him straight up that this was, in fact, a date. And he’d mention it now, if his throat hadn’t closed up at the thought. He leads Tim around another corner. “Quit your bitching, we’re nearly there.”

—

Roy takes great pleasure in watching Tim’s amusement at Roy’s antics melts into awe once he steps into the restaurant the redhead had led them to. As much as he enjoys fucking with the runt enough to make him snark back, flustering him by bringing up obscene things and generally being a pain in his ass, he likes surprising him much more.

Along with the ‘warning brow’, Tim has an ‘I-just-saw-a-unicorn’ look. A look of surprise and awe and apprehension, and— Roy hadn’t seen a lot of it in the past month. He hadn’t really seen it at all since Robin became Red Robin. It was reassuring, familiar. Normal.

Tim blinks, then looks behind him at Roy. “This is a restaurant.”

Roy snorts. “Yep.”

“Like a real, actual restaurant. With menus and chefs and-“

“Well, I did say we were grabbing dinner, runt.” He scoffs, moving past him to 

“You said ‘a bite to eat.’” Tim says weakly, following Roy following the waiter.

—

Roy orders for them, and Tim’s too busy surreptitiously casing out the place to bother protesting. There’s really no one here of particular interest, really. Couples mostly, but that could be because the entire placed is aligned that way. Decidedly dangerous couples at that, if the labrets, monroes, bruised knuckles and undercuts are anything to go by. Tim looks quite mild in comparison, which suits Roy just fine. They’re probably more dangerous than everyone in the room combined.

They’ve holed up in a dark corner, with a clear view of everything from the tables to the kitchens, and Tim relaxes enough to pull down his hood. 

“So, you had some trouble with Rose?” Roy asks.

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Gar told me. Did you know he’s with Rachel?”

“They’re not actually together. And Ravager is…a little rough around the edges.”

“Yet.” Roy elaborates. “They’re not together yet. And I’m pretty sure ‘rough around the edges’ is Tim-speak for ‘major pain in my ass’. What’s up?”

“She’s not that bad. She doesn’t trust me though.”

“Yeah, she’s cranky sometimes, huh?” Roy smirks. “At least she doesn’t have a penchant for explosives.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Tim sighs wearily. “She has one for stabbing. Which is already much harder accommodate because I have to find someone for her to stab, as opposed to making something blow up at a safe distance to provide distraction or whatever.”

Roy mock-whines. “Is that all I am to you? A means of distraction? I’m hurt, Timmy.”

“Don’t call me Timmy. And you’re a decent enough fighter without your explosive tendencies.”

“Just decent?”

“Don’t push it, Harper.” The waiter comes along with a platter and chopsticks. He leaves after lighting the stubby little candle in the middle of the table. Tim blows it out immediately. Roy gives him a curious frown. “Sorry. Habit.” he says by means of explanation. 

Right. Bats and dark corners and all that. He lowers his voice. “About Rosie. You know she’s Deathstroke’s kid, right? She really has no idea who you are, or if she can trust you.”

“That’s…understandable.” Tim says, but there’s a twitch in his brow for the briefest second that speaks of more. Roy tries to coax it out of him with a raised eyebrow. “Um…Rosie?”

Roy smirks. “Don’t be jealous, Timmy.”

“Shut up.” Tim scoffs, takes up his chopsticks, then adds quietly. “If you trust her, then I suppose I do too. She can’t be worse than you, at any rate.”

“Rude.” Roy fiddles with the chopsticks with his left hand and tries to work them. He’s fully aware of Tim watching him, and needs to make this believable. He drops the dumpling twice before reaching, with his mechanical hand, for the fork, when Tim leans his elbows on the table and picks the dumpling Roy dropped carefully and holds it for him.

He only really realises the implication of what he’s doing when Roy opens his mouth and pinks a little before popping the dumpling into the redhead’s mouth. Roy transfers the chopstick in his left hand to his right and picks up the next dumpling on the platter with ease, hovering it in front of Tim’s mouth with a smile he can’t quite suppress, even with the dwindling numbness in his jaw.

Tim narrows his eyes and for a moment Roy thinks he’s going to bat his hand away, but his lips part and Roy feels a flush rise up the back of his neck when he leans in to retrieve the dumpling from Roy’s chopsticks. With his teeth.

Christ. “So why’s Jason taking stealth lessons?” he asks immediately, diffusing any tension in their space. Or maybe just his space, because Tim just looks amused. “You’d think he’d got enough practice in that department running with who he runs with.”

Tim smiles. “I thought that…B had sent him up. To see how I was progressing with the team.” Which is bat-talk for ‘The boss is worried about me, but he’s allergic to talking so he sends his other kids to sniff around for him.’ “I thought that, but Jase told me he came of his own accord.”

“Jase?” Roy blurts out before he can stop himself. He has just enough time to regret it when Tim smiles like he’s seconds away from taking a bite out of Roy’s good arm. And Roy really likes Tim’s teeth too much for that metaphor to be healthy.

“Don’t be jealous, Roy.”

—-

They’re bickering about the bill as they’re leaving the restaurant, since they didn’t take credit and only Roy bought cash, but he’d planned that. 

“Tell you what, why don’t you take me out to dinner sometime?” Roy grins wide now that the numbness is mostly gone and his face is working. “Besides, it’s not like you ate at all, anyway. I had half your bowl of whatever the hell that was.”

“It was ramen.”

“Weirdest ramen I’ve ever tasted. Seriously, what do you eat?  _Do_  you eat?”

“Of course I eat. Just—“ Tim stops and grips Roy’s arm to bring him to a halt. He glances up ahead.

There’s a couple of guys under the flickering streetlights, and they seem to be giving a pair of women a hard time. Roy wrenches his arm out of Tim’s grip and rushes forward, ignoring the hissed protests of ‘ _we don’t have masks_ ’ and ‘ _Roy._ ’

—

Because Roy is who he is, and Tim is who he is, Roy knows that his flank is covered, regardless of how shitty a situation seems. And these are just thugs, but one them manages to punch Roy hard enough to make him stagger, before Tim goes all bat-ninja on him and knocks him down. The women had long since ran away.

He pulls Roy up. “Are you okay?”

Before Roy can answer, the asshole on the ground groans and Tim kicks him in the jaw before cupping Roy’s jaw and examining the side of his face. He grimaces. “That’s going to bruise. Wasn’t this the side you got your filling done?”

His fingers are so fucking  _cold_ — “Uh, yeah, I-“

“Hang on. Open your mouth.” 

And Roy’s really isn’t ready for the feel of having Tim’s thumb shoved into his open mouth, but hey, he isn’t complaining. He might be salivating a little though.

Tim presses his thumb up against the filling and tells him to bite, and Roy really has no problem with that, and does so, biting down increment by increment. He forces the rising moan to die in his throat and doesn’t wrap his tongue around the digit.

Once Tim is satisfied the filling hadn’t been loosened at the impact, he drags his thumb out of Roy’s mouth and wipes it on Roy’s shirt because he’s an  _asshole._  “Should we call the police or something?”

Roy snorts. “Nah. Leave ‘em here ’til morning. All we did was bruise them.”

Tim laughs quietly, and Roy already knew that the night wouldn’t end with a kiss at the door, or even anything resembling that but— It’s a start.


	4. (iv)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ornery. Well,” Nightwing snickers. “You go ahead and placate, little brother. He’s usually better after a day with you. Call us if you need anything, okay?”

\--

Roy is tired, and Tim can tell he’s tired because when Roy’s had a rough patrol, his attention span dwindles and he’s a lot less subtle about staring at Tim’s mouth and using noncommittal grunting as replies. He also snaps a lot more at the younger recruits and generally plasters a scowl on his face. Which would be more irritating than funny if Tim didn’t suspect Roy didn’t know he became a grumpy son of a bitch when he was exhausted. He also encroaches in on Tim’s personal space a lot more and, well--

It’s not something Tim really minds when they’re alone, but it gets them some odd looks when they’re in the lounge at the Harbour and Roy decides to scoop Tim’s legs up into his lap, caging them with his arms as if daring anyone to bring it up. Red Robin has to make an appearance with Gotham’s finest in about 2 hours, and Arsenal isn’t any closer to becoming less of a short-tempered pitbull. So Tim nudges Roy’s good arm with his foot to get his attention.

“Come back to mine for a bit?”

Usually Roy has some smart-mouthed rebuttal, but instead of that, he stares hard before releasing Tim’s legs and letting Tim lead him back to the zeta tubes. 

Once Tim drags him back to his apartment, he shoves Roy in and locks the door behind him. Roy breaks out into an irritated frown when Tim sends him straight to bed. He curses in Tim’s general direction and mutters to himself, but, since he’s ultimately asleep on his feet, he complies and drags himself to Tim’s bedroom.

An hour and a half later, Tim’s fully suited up and fastening his utility belt around his hips. He carefully wanders into his bedroom to tell Roy he’s leaving for patrol. It’s been customary for one to wake the other before they leave, something Roy took it upon himself to do when he was visiting Tim.

Red Robin shakes Roy’s shoulder gently. “Roy?”

The redhead growls. Tim rolls his eyes. “I’m going for patrol,” 

Roy blinks awake. “Wan’ me to change?” he asks, voice heavy with sleep.

“Stay sleeping. There’s food in the fridge.” He can’t help stroking his thumb on Roy’s shoulder. “I’ll be back when I can.”

Roy make another low, growly noise and lets his eyes fall closed. Tim realises, with much dismay, that his clothes are strewn about the ground in a haphazard mess. He shuts the door behind him.

\--

He catches Batman perched on the Ace Chemicals building, overlooking the museum. Bruce had sent him the coordinates, but he had an odd tone in his voice. It wasn’t the first time they’d worked together since he’d been back though, so--

Tim doesn’t bother scuffing his feet to make his presence known. There isn’t much courtesy needed with Batman, after all. The binoculars in his gauntlets are aimed at the museum entrance.

“You called, B?”

Batman doesn’t move or stop what he’s doing. “Cobblepot.” He says. “Possession of experimental narcotics on top of arson. He raided a zoo recently.”

“We don’t even have penguins at the zoo anymore.” Red Robin says, helpfully unhelpful.

“Hnh. Robin is with Nightwing, covering the back entrance. You and I will take the front.” He rises, gathering his cape and assuming his fearsome-creature-of-the-night-stance. “Follow my lead.”

\--

It was a shark Penguin had taken from the zoo. One he’d pumped full of the same stuff he’d used on Solomon Grundy two years ago. Of all the amazing and horrific things he’d seen Batman do, he’d never thought he’d ever see the Caped Crusader punch a shark in the face.

Tim shivers in the cold Gotham wind, having been unable to avoid a dip in the frozen lake Penguin had made after destroying the floors of the museum’s inner rooms. There were officers who’d been frozen, barely able to move.

Most of them were in hypothermic conditions, but stable enough for the EMT’s to relocate them to Gotham hospitals. Tim shakes his cape a little, trying to dispel some of the water off of his. Hands scrub through his hair and someone pulls him back into a relatively warmer chest.

“You’re freezing, little brother.” Nightwing coos, curling in around him. “Come back to the manor. There’s no way in hell you and B are gonna be able to patrol for the next couple of days. What possessed you two to take a dip in the shark-infested ice-water?”

“We didn’t do it on purpose.” Red Robin snorts. “And I’ll have to pass. Um, on the offer.”

“Why’s that, got someone waiting for you at home?” Nightwing does that thing where he tries to be Dick, and waggle his eyebrows. The mask hooked on his face doesn’t allow for much movement though.

“I...do, actually.” Red replies, prying Dick’s arms off him and pulling out his grapple.

Nightwing’s smile is smug. “It’s Arsenal, isn’t it?” 

The chill up Tim’s spine only has a little to do with the gust of wind and his soaked skin. “I’m placating him. He’s been...ornery lately.”

“Ornery. Well,” Nightwing snickers. “You go ahead and placate, little brother. He’s usually better after a day with you. Call us if you need anything, okay?”

“Got it, N.” Red Robin says uncertainly, before launching his grappling gun and swinging away. The cold doesn’t nip so much as it bites.

\--

Roy is still sound asleep when Tim lands in, and the aches in his arms and legs are bone deep. It takes effort to drag himself to the bathroom and peel off his tights and body armour. One scalding hot shower later, he still aches, but any painkillers he has are in a kitchen cabinet, and --

His bed’s right there, along with a ridiculously warm extra body, and, let’s be real, Tim isn’t about to set up the guest room for himself at four in the morning anyway. He carefully lowers himself on his apparent side of the mattress and sighs softly against his pillow. He’s well aware he’s going to regret going to sleep with pains everywhere, but exhaustion causes a wide, jaw-cracking yawn and practically guarantees that he won’t be leaving his little nest of blankets until well into the next day.

\--

Tim smells smoke. Not cooking smoke, thank god, but the irritating waft of nicotine. And he tastes it in the air more than he smells it. It registers that his nose is rather runny, and his throat feels like it’s burning, and there’s muscle deep pain in his legs and arms. His fingers and toes aren’t currently speaking to him. 

He feels the mattress dip and tries to open his heavy eyelids. Roy sits, leaning forward, resting his hands on his knees. He’s staring very hard at the wall, and Tim’s fairly certain Roy doesn’t know he’s awake. He clears his throat.

“You better not have been smoking inside my house.” his voice sounds terrible, and Roy’s noticed if the raised eyebrow is anything to go by.

“I was on the balcony.”

“Still my house.” and now he sounds like he’s wheezing. 

Roy frowns, leaning over. “Are you alright? You sound like crap. I didn’t catch you coming in last night.”

Tim blinks. “Penguin got a shark and I fell into some water.” He clears his throat. “Are you okay, Roy?”

Roy’s blue-green eyes blink. “Yeah.” he says tonelessly.

Tim props himself up on one arm. Roy’s never been good at concealing a bad mood. He’s too direct and reluctant to tiptoe around a point or bother with tact. Though he’s never stewed this long without some kind of metaphorical explosion.

“God, would you fucking stop it with that eyebrow?” Ah. Explosion. “Jesus, I fucking get it, okay? ‘Warning brow’ up means ‘Roy, quit being a dick’. It’s not my fucking fault I’m in a shit mood.” He trails off into a low grumble, slumping forward.

Tim gives him a minute. After all, he’s used to Batman. And Nightwing. Hell, Jason could brood with the best of them. Roy takes a breath, then turns to look at him. Tim stays patiently still as Roy’s eyes trail from his face to his shoulders, to the rest of his body wrapped in his bedsheets. He shifts himself forward and lies back, resting the back of his head on Tim’s hip. He licks his lips. “Ollie got a new sidekick.”

Oh.

That was...unexpected. 

“I know right?” Roy snorts. Tim realises he’s spoken out loud. “She’s some kid he’d picked up, good with a bow apparently. But,” He turns over, facing Tim. “She’s calling herself ‘Speedy’ and everything, you know? I thought after I...” He scowls. “You know. I didn’t think Ollie would ever get another sidekick.” His face shifts from frustration to a near heartbreakingly pathetic. “I’m not being stupid, am I? I mean, I am. Obviously. Because this kid’s like sixteen and I’m nineteen in three months. And like, technically in my mid-twenties. Jesus, this was stupid.” He growls and turns his face into his hip-pillow, burying himself in the sheets.

Tim scratches his nails through Roy’s scalp. He makes another growling sound into his hip, but it’s more pleased than annoyed. “You know, I didn’t find Jason because I was looking for him.” he says, carefully gauging Roy’s reaction. “No one thought he could have possibly survived that explosion in Ethiopia. Least of all Batman.”

Roy groans, turns back to face him. “What’s you point?”

Tim rolls his eyes. “My point is, Roy, do you really think Green Arrow would’ve given up if there was even the smallest chance you were alive?”

Roy snorts. “My clone kept fucking looking.”

“Maybe he wanted to believe your clone was you. And like, not dead.”

Roy snickers despite himself. “I can’t decide if you’re good at this or not.”

Tim lets the arm he’s leaning on fall back down. “Go to hell. See if I ever try to make you feel better about yourself again.” He keeps scratching at Roy’s scalp anyway. “You should give her a chance.” he adds quietly.

“She replaced me,” Roy whines. Tim doesn’t mind. Whining is a turn for the better.

“About three years after you gave up Speedy to become Arsenal.”

“Well, yeah, but--“

“Or did you want the hat and feather thing back? I’ve seen photos. You looked horrendous in yellow, to be honest--“

“Hey, fuck you,” Roy replies weakly. After a moment, he lifts his head from Tim’s hip and leans in. “You’re right, though, aren’t you.”

Tim smiles. “But what else is new?”

Roy doesn’t laugh. “You never make fun of me when I get like this.”

“Like what, a whiny, punkass teenager with an authority problem and a gun instead of an arm?”

“You fucking know what I mean.” Roy says softly.

Tim snorts. Roy’s face is close enough that he can see a faint splash of faded freckles on the bridge of his nose. He purses his lips. “Hey, Roy.”

Again, his eyes flash down to his lips. “Yeah?”

Tim grins blearily. “I think I’m catching a cold.”


	5. (v) (part i)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t believe you keep doing that. It’s surreal seeing a vigilante get bested by a kitchen knife.”

There’s a storm roaring outside, like a literal storm. Rain hammers down against Tim’s windows and the balcony doors, like bullets crashing against pavement. Patrol tonight would be rough for the others tonight with the city as slippery as a basin. The heating’s up full blast, because the apartment is currently housing a sick person, and Roy’s soaking wet clothes are hanging on a radiator. He’d run out to get groceries earlier, to restock Tim’s pantry and fridge. 

Said sick person was currently slouched on a kitchen chair, nestled in the blankets he’d procured from his bed, messing with something on his netbook. The tea beside him has long since gone cold.

Roy curses again and sucks on another finger he’d managed to nick. 

Tim coughs out a laugh. “I can’t believe you keep doing that. It’s surreal seeing a vigilante get bested by a kitchen knife.”

“Shut the hell up and hand me another bandaid.”

“Do you even know how to cook?”

“Sort of.” Roy wraps the bandaid around his cut. “It’ll be an experience.”

“Don’t blow up my kitchen.”

He snorts. “No promises.” He shoves the rest of the cut up carrots into the boiling pot on the stove. 

“Weren’t you supposed to add them in with the rest of the vegetables?”

Roy glances at him. “What’s your point?”

Tim frowns. “They’re gonna be hard.” 

“So we’ll chew ‘em. You’re sick, not stupid.” Roy saunters up behind him to lean over the back of his chair and rests his chin on top of Tim’s head. 

“You’re a horrible nurse.” Tim mumbles. “I don’t feel the least bit comforted.”

“I don’t coddle, runt.” Roy grunts, even as he brings his flesh and blood hand to test Tim’s temperature. “You want me to make more tea?”

Tim makes a negative sound. Roy snorts. He rests both his hands on Tim’s blanketed shoulders and glances down at the screen. “What’re you watching?”

“Buffy.” Tim’s voice still sounds weird.

“I never got to watching the end of that, actually.”

“Ngh. Marathon. After Spiderman.” Tim rubs at his nose, and leans his head back to look up at Roy. His eyes are a little red. “I’m still sick.”

“No shit.” Roy says, drawing back. “I can  _so_  totally tell you were trained by the world’s greatest detective.”

“You’re an ass.”

“You’re a  _pain_  in my ass.”

“I’m a wonderful patient.” Tim stresses.

Roy snorts. “Of fucking course you are. ‘Royyy, it’s too cold in here’, ‘Royyy, I can’t dry swallow my medicine’, ‘Royyy, they haven’t killed the Governer yet’—“

“Royyy, shut the hell up.” Tim snarls. “Beside, you’re the one who messed with my thermostat, and you  _know_  I hate the Governer.” He curls up in his seat. “And my throat was dry. I almost choked. Stop laughing.”

Roy snorts. “I still can’t believe it took a voicemail from the bat to keep you in bed.”

Tim groans, pushing his netbook forward and resting his head on the table. “I can’t believe he did that. I can’t believe he addressed  _you_  like that.” 

Honestly, Roy couldn’t believe it either. Though to counter that, there was a voice-mail on Tim’s answering machine that harboured a very grumbly message from a very grumbly bat, insisting that Tim stay indoors during the storm and that Arsenal had been handed the task to ‘look after him.’ 

Apparently Tim had snuck out sick once when he was Robin. Roy’s still trying to get the details from him. 

The redhead had effectively been reduced to nannying Tim for the past three days. Gar already told him he’d be paged if something important came up. But Tim can probably look after himself. He’d managed to live alone and sufficiently enough that Batman didn’t bother him about it, and he’d been doing it for the past what, three, four, years? 

So, really, what  _is_  Roy still doing here?

“Dinner should be ready in about 10.”

“You should change your shirt.”

“You should invest in an apron.”

Tim bursts into hiccupy peels of laughter. “Would you wear it?”

Roy disappears into Tim’s room rather than answer him. Here he was, trying to be nice and not-asshole-y, and the runt is so totally taking advantage. He tugs off his shirt and tosses it onto the gathering pile of laundry neither of them are up to doing. Which should probably be amended, since there’s literally only the green lantern t-shirt left hanging in Tim’s closet. Once again, Roy finds himself shaking his head, sporting a stupidly fond smile. 

When he returns to the kitchen, Tim is using a ladle to fish through the soup, before picking out a piece of carrot and popping it into his mouth. Somehow the blanket stays on him, like some kind of cape. Roy rolls his eyes and snatches the ladle from Tim’s hands.

“They’re hard.” Tim says. 

“You can  _chew_  them. Christ, you become a whiny baby when you’re sick.”

“You’re a whiny baby all the t—“ Tim jolts a little, choking on another coughing fit. The ladle clatters against the kitchen counter when Roy curls around him to pat his back. He doesn’t seem to be getting any better. If anything, Tim’s ‘cold’ seems to be getting worse. “My chest hurts.” he says, after the initial fit has passed.

“Your fever’s up again, too.” Roy says. “Tim, it…might be pneumonia.”

Tim glares at him, eyes watery from his body’s sudden distress. “No.” 

Roy sighs. “Muscle pains, persistent cough, fever,” Not to mention the shakes Tim got at night. Worse part of that was he complained about the cold when his skin was burning.

“Or it could be the flu.” Tim says, like that’s much better.

Roy purses his lips. “Go start up that movie.” He says, and realises he’s had his arm on the runt’s back since he started talking.

Tim drags his feet past him and settles on the couch. 

—

Halfway through the film, where Spiderman has just realised who the big lizard guy is, Tim shuts his eyes and an irritated frown breaks out on his face. He’d managed to finish his bowl at least, drippy nose, watery eyes and all. He blinks his eyes open. 

Roy reaches over him for the remote. “I’m putting on something else.”

Tim frowns. “The movie’s not over.”

"Yeah, but you’re not watching it."

"I’m  _watching_. I have a headache-“

"All the more reason for me to put on something else. Say, Dog Cops?"

Tim makes an annoyed sound and reaches for the remote in Roy’s hand. The redhead waves it back out of his reach. Tim huffs, then crawls closer, stumbling and still reaching for the device. Roy snickers when he trips over his knees and ends up on his lap. He suspects that Tim’s too flustered about the redhead witholding the remote to be flustered about having crawled into Roy’s lap.

He’s waving it over his head when Tim drops his hands and slumps. Roy takes pity on him and holds the remote in front of the runt’s face, ready to relinquish. 

Tim’s eyes are watery, even as he starts to reach for the remote, and Roy’s feels the worry bubble up his throat. Sure, he’s an ass, but he’s never made the kid  _cry_  before—

Not to his knowledge anyway—

Tim huffs and wraps his arms around Roy’s neck instead, and the redhead has just enough time to be completely thrown when Tim sighs and relaxes. He presses his cheek against Roy’s. “I  _hate_ being sick.” he mutters.

Roy has two instinctual options. He can shove Tim away and flail a little while throwing insults around, or he can give in to the urge to bury his nose in his dark hair and hold him back. He doesn’t realise he’s picked number two until he’s dropped the remote and hugging him.

Tim’s skin is still too warm.

"I think it’s pneumonia, runt." he says, in an attempt to ease Tim’s grip. Bad idea, as it makes Tim huff warmth against his neck and Roy has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting.

Tim squirms and settles before asking in a rather raspy voice. “Can you growl?”

Roy blinks. “What.”

"Like.  _Growl_.” Tim reiterates. He makes a pathetic purring noise and makes Roy have to swallow. “Like that. Like you do when you’re angry.”

"What am I, your dog? And I don’t growl."

"You do  _so_. Besides, you owe me for stretching out all my shirts.”

“ _You_ should’ve actually done your laundry.” It’s getting harder to keep up because Tim’s started digging and scratching his short nails into the back of Roy’s hairline.

"I’m sick." Tim pulls back and Roy instantly misses the heat against his face. "I won’t bring up the hot dog stand incident. For a while. If you growl."

He-

_Well-_

Roy— glares a little. He never hears the end of the hotdog stand thing. So he narrows his eyes and lets the rumble rise from the back of his throat. Tim shivers, then shuts his mouth and suddenly looks mortified before springing up out of Roy’s lap.

"I think I’m  _goingtobed_ —” he says hurriedly, already rushing towards his door.

Roy stares blankly at the television screen where Spiderman has decided to break the promise he made to the dead guy and is totally hitting on his daughter. He groans, burying his face in his hands. How badly had he messed this up? Was it the lap thing or the growl? Tim’s been tired and weary all day, so—

He waits until the movie ends, then gathers up the bowls and starts cleaning up a bit. 

The back of his neck feels hot and the nervous lump in his throat isn’t dislodging, even when he knows that Tim is fast asleep in his bedroom. He curses quietly. He should’ve given him a verbal spar instead of a hug. That was a bad call on his part.

But why was it a bad call? Christ, he’s been dancing around this whatever-the-hell they have between them for the longest time and, Roy had enlisted Bart and Jaime’s help, but-

He hadn’t set any cogs in motion, per se. He hadn’t been able to bring it up so far.

Roy quietly opens Tim’s door, making his way towards the bed. The runt’s curled up on his side, breathing rather harshly into the pillow. Roy brings his human hand up to check his temperature. Tim’s already worked up a slight sweat, and the shakes normally follow.

Roy swallows. Can he take another day of comforting Tim without succombing to the urge to plant a kiss on his head or cheek or lips? That would make things a lot worse than they are, since Tim basically freaked out about Roy growling—

What even, though.  _Growling_?

He doesn’t really need to stay, honestly. Tim can look after himself, as he’s proven time and time again. But he needs to say something about what’s going on between them, right?

Roy catches himself staring at Tim’s parted lips, breathing out raspy breaths and he—

He can’t do it. 

Roy gets up and heads back to the kitchen. It’s a little past three, and good vigilantes would be home by now, regardless of bad weather. He picks up the phone and dials Nightwing.


	6. (v) (part ii)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’d like you to come live here, in the manor with us.”

\---

In a vague sort of delirium, Tim feels arms close in around and has just enough time to groan and quietly whine ‘Roy’ and ‘quit it’ before he realises that the skin isn’t as warm as the perpetually burning heat underneath Roy’s own skin, and both hands are flesh hands. 

Colours swirl behind the back of his eyelids, and Tim’s cracks open an eye and sees a lot of blue. He’s being lifted, and it isn’t uncomfortable, and the voice muttering ‘little brother’ isn’t Roy, but that’s okay. It’s still pretty soothing. 

\--

The first conscious thought that skitters across Tim’s mind is that the bed is the wrong way around. Or he is. Because instead of shifting to the left and hitting a warmer body, he nearly falls off his bed and manages to hit his elbow off a nightstand. He-- doesn’t have nightstand high enough to hit his elbow off of.

The sheets are different too, thicker, softer, with an absurdly-high thread count. Tim gapes at them before yawning wide and coughing a little to clear his throat. He blinks up at the ceiling and decides it’s too soon to panic. He falls back to sleep.

\--

Dick’s there by Tim’s bedside when he finally shuffles around in his sheets and makes irritated little noises before swiping at the damp cloth on his head. He coos a little, brushing Tim’s hair back from his heated skin.

He bites back a smile when Tim mutters Roy’s name again because Jesus Christ, adorababble. Tim blinks open his eyes and they’re still bloodshot.

“Hi, little brother.” he says. “How’re you doing?”

Tim frowns. “Nngh. N?” His brow furrows, and Dick swears he’s going to have frownlines before he’s even 30.

“No, kiddo, it’s Dick.” he smiles. “You’re at the Manor. Alfred and I came to collect you. Bruce is sick, too.”

Tim stares hard. “Um. Roy?”

Well of course he’d ask about his boyfriend first. “He’s fine. Called me when he thought he was he was out of his depth. Wanted to make sure you were taken care of.” 

Tim hums, shuts his eyes. “He didn’t wake me up.”

Dick’s heart melts a little more but he resists the urge to hug his little brother and never let go.

\--

Tim’s up and tenser than he’d been during the worst of his fevers. Bruce can tell he’s willing himself to relax when makes his way down the stairs of the manor. Alfred is attending to some business away from the kitchens at the moment, opening a window of opportunity for Tim to rush down and make himself coffee or something else he only indulged in rarely.

So Bruce follows him down and stands in the doorway while Tim goes about his business. Once he’s done fiddling with the kettle and poured his coffee, he tenses. And turns. His nose is pink and his cheeks are still faintly blotchy. At least his eyes look better.

“Uh, hi, B.” he says awkwardly.

Bruce nods. “Tim. Join me in the Study?” He doesn’t miss the way Tim’s left brow twitches briefly and or the sudden tenseness in his shoulders. Of course Tim is on edge in the manor. He’s declined several invitations from Dick to come live with them already. At first, Bruce assumed it was because of Edward Drake, Tim’s uncle. Of course that suspicion had been expelled after Tim had come out as an emancipated minor when his uncle had mysteriously disappeared.

Bruce sits on the sofa in the Study, perusing through the newspaper Alfred had left on his desk earlier. Tim was to inherit his late parents’ company once he reached 18, and he’d long since finished school. He’d always prided himself in being independent, self-sufficient. He’d told Bruce, upfront, that he hadn’t planned on dying as Robin, or staying a vigilante until he was Nightwing’s age.

Then his parents had died while Bruce was off-planet, and Nightwing was shocked and hurt when he found out later-- a lot later - that the uncle Tim had been living with hadn’t existed.

A timid knock on his open door prompts him to lift his head. He puts the paper down and waves Tim in. It seems he’s abandoned his cup of coffee on the kitchen counter. He takes a seat next to Bruce, chewing the inside of his cheek. “You wanted to see me, B?”

Bruce isn’t sure if he’s being addressed here, or if Tim means Batman.

“Are you comfortable here, Tim?”

Bruce sees the hitch in his chest even before Tim’s starts to stop his sharp intake of breath. Was he afraid Bruce would make him leave?

“Yeah. It’s been great.” he goes back to chewing the inside of his cheek. “Sorry about the scare.”

“This could’ve been avoided if you’d come with us to the manor in the first place, like Dick had asked.”

There’s no hiding that wince. “I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve--“

“It’s fine, Tim,” Bruce hushes him. He watches him struggle to not fidget under hid scrutiny. Tim’s been good at hiding even before he came to Batman with sharp eyes and a camera. Bruce takes hold of Tim’s wrist with one of his big hands and finds the racing pulse Tim had failed to suppress, even with the techniques Batman had taught him.

“I know Dick asked you this already, on more than one occasion,” It might hammer the point the home if it comes from Bruce’s mouth. Dick had said so, anyway, after grabbing him by shoulders and shaking him. “I’d like you to come live here, in the manor with us.”

Tim’s pulse jumps and the rising flush probably has nothing to do with his fever, but presses the back of his knuckles to his forehead anyway. When he says nothing, Bruce continues. “It’s a big enough house, when you want your space. Since Jason’s been back, Alfred’s been more...lenient with fast food. I think you’d be comfortable and-- I know you probably won’t want to hear this, but,” He smiles, a small twist at the corners of his lips. “I don’t think a seventeen-year-old should be living alone?” Especially if they’ve been alone since they were fourteen.

Tim blink rapidly, and it takes a minute for Bruce to realise that the boy’s eyes were starting to water, and he almost shoots out the door in panic because feelings and how to handle them--

But Tim laughs, smothers it with his sleeve, then smiles unabashedly. “Sure. Okay. Sounds great.” Bruce decides to ignore the way the last syllable goes up in pitch and squeezes Tim’s shoulder because-

He has to ask--

“So, Roy Harper?”

Tim bites his lip. “What about him?”

Bruce’s brow furrows. “He’s violent. And rather excitable.” That’s mildly put.

“So is Jason.” Tim counters.

“He uses explosives, Tim. Liberally, I might add.” Bruce frowns. “And didn’t he make you cry, once?”

Tim eyes are as wide as saucers. “Oh my god, Dick told you?” he buries his face in his hands. “I told him not to tell you.”

The only reason he knows about that incident is because Bruce sifted through the Harbour’s security footage after Dick had been acting overly affectionate with Tim one patrol. 

(And the only reason Nightwing hadn’t destroyed him right there and then was because Robin had pleaded with him to drop it the issue.)

And now, Bruce muses while Tim scrubs down his face in embarrassment, mumbling about how they were just dumb kids, they were...dating. Or something to that effect. He hadn’t questioned it too much when Dick had bounded into his office one day exclaiming ‘Timmy has a boyfriend, oh my god, B.’

Bruce’s Robins bewilder him more often than they don’t. (But Bruce had already conspired with Dick and Alfred to pack all of Tim’s belongings and haul them over to the bedroom they’d set aside in the manor for him, so he supposes Tim’s allowed a few free passes before Bruce starts frowning at him particularly hard.) He pats Tim’s head awkwardly and notes that his temperature has risen a little, and sends him off to bed. 

\--

“Did you get all your homework finished?” 

Jason groans, plopping his bag down on Tim’s bed. He falls, face first onto the sheets, then rolls over until he makes contact with Tim’s side. A hand scrubs through his hair. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

“Only physics left.” Jason huffs when he lifts his head up from the sheets. He toes off his shoes and nudges them off the bed before sitting up. “Are you better? You look better.” Little tired though, if the lines under his eyes are anything to go by.

Tim smiles. “I’m better. How was the weekend?”

“Good. Great.” Jason tugs his bag closer and pulls out his physics textbook. He flips it open and sets it on Tim’s lap. He digs through his bag, folds over a few loose sheets of paper and a pen. “We’re on chapter 29.” he says.

Tim arches a brow at him. “Jase.”

“Just tell me the important stuff, please?” Jason juts out his bottom lip. “B says I can’t patrol until I’m finished the chapter.”

He rolls his eyes, but since Tim’s actually really cool about stuff, he skims over the chapter. Dick would’ve left him to it, or maybe even try to distract Jason from ever getting it done, since he loves fucking with him. And making him smile when he’s pissed, but Dick’s the asshole-brother. Tim’s the one that lets him get away with things. Or at least that’s how Harper said it works.

“Oh, yeah. Harper wanted me to relay a message.” 

Jason doesn’t miss the way Tim loses his place on the page and blinks twice before finding it again. “Hnh?”

“He said, uh, ‘You better haul your ass to the Harbour next weekend’ or he’ll 'blow up something important.'” Jason narrows his eyes for a second. “He also said to say something ‘uncouth’ about your legs, something mean about your taste in music and then he wanted me to call you ‘runt’.”

Tim snorts, and looks a little less tired. “He’s an ass.”

“That’s what I said.”

His eyes soften. “He’s not that bad though.” Ew. Mushy.

Jason frowns, then flops down on Tim’s side, head resting on his shoulder. “I guess. He’s teaching me and Rose how to use bows next weekend.”

Tim looks at him. “He hasn’t used a bow since before he was Arsenal.”

“He can still sort of instruct us, I guess.” Jason taps his pen on the paper. “Come on, Tim, please? I’ve got an hour to get this done.”

“You know, if you timed yourself when you were writing up your Lit. homework--“

“Oh my god, you don’t just finish a Lit. essay, Tim--”

\---

After an extensive patrol around Happy Harbour more colourful districts with Gar and and listening to his new-relationship worries, Roy had headed to bed with every intention of sleeping. Instead he was ambushed by a disgruntled Rose in the hallways and spent an hour having girl-time with her. Since she didn’t really like anyone else presently at base.

So after five hours sleep, he skips his morning shower and decides, hey, who needs shaving anyway?

Then Tim shows up at his door, poised to knock. Roy stares blankly for a second before Tim blurts out, “You didn’t wake me up.”

Roy gapes. “I--what?”

“Before you left.” He tilts his head, eyeing Roy warily. He smirks and taps Roy’s cheek. “You need to shave.”

Roy grins. “Not wax?”

Tim crosses his arms. “And exactly how many days have you been itching to say that to my face? Jase told me you were being mean to the freshmen again.”

“Was not. Robin’s are accomplished liars.” Roy says solemnly. “They lie to Batman. You should watch the company you keep, Timmy. I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t call me Timmy.” Tim mutters. He licks his lips. “And I suppose I owe you a few days of R&R, along with that dinner.” He pushes past Roy, dropping a duffel bag on the floor.

“A few days of R&R?” Roy snorts. “Excuse me, runt, but you know how some people turn into babies when they’re sick, and others turn into monsters? You’re a baby-monster.”

Tim scowls at him. “You stretched out all my shirts.”

“It was practically blizzard-weather outside. What was I supposed to do, walk around topless?”

And that is an interesting blush. Roy’s hasn’t even mentioned anything particularly salacious yet. “You’d fit into most of my hoodies.” he says weakly.

“Too warm in your apartment. And don’t bring up the part where I’m apparently a furnace.”

“But you are.” Tim says smiling, then leans forward, still blushing faintly. “Thank you. For looking after me.”

Roy smiles back, like his heart isn’t hammering in his chest. “Anytime, runt. Glad you’re better.”

Tim shrugs. “Thanks. Could’ve been worse.”

Roy snorts. “Yeah, I could’ve bitched to someone else about Speedy and you could’ve disappeared again.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “I already said I’d call you if I was ever doing something stupidly dangerous.”

“Damn straight. Listen, I gotta get going. The kids were expecting me a half-hour ago. Stay,” he adds, when Tim starts to rise. “Relax. I should be finished by noon. And I need someone to run maintenance on my arm anyway.”

Tim sits back down. “Alright. I’ll be here.” he says hesitantly.

“Don’t tear up my shirts for revenge.” Roy says, shutting the door. He hears a muffled ‘I’d be more subtle,’ before making his way to the indoor archery range.

Jason had told him earlier that Tim would staying at the manor for the time being, and Roy is both relieved and a little jarred. It meant that, while he’d be mostly taken care off, Roy couldn’t pop in at odd hours to complain to him or annoy him, or drag him out of that too-quiet apartment, or coax him into eating food that was terrible for your arteries, or watch him crawl into bed already half-asleep while he tugged the covers out from underneath Roy and called him an ass for turning off the heating--

Roy almost trips over his own feet. God, this is becoming a problem. Though he feels lighter than he has in a while.


	7. (vi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t mean to sound needy, Red, but--uh. Talk to me?”

\---

It’s far past noon when Tim gets restless in Roy’s room after reorganising his entire wardrobe and cleaning the mirror in his bathroom. He slumps back into the sheets that smells oddly of Roy and metal and smoke, and wonders if he should start trying to clean underneath the bed, since he’s pretty sure it’s littered with abandoned circuitry and wires and whatever else-

But he’s also not Roy’s maid, and there was already that weird melted blue crap he found on the shower rug-

So he changes into his kevlar, mask and boots, fastens his utility belt around his waist and makes his way to the training rooms. They’re mostly empty, except for Garfield and Conner by the weights. He waves at them and continues off towards the practice range, away from the arena.

He hears low voices and laughter, and Jason’s unmistakable snicker. He leans against the doorway, watching Roy adjust Rose’s back, call Jason a brat and generally look very pleased when both his student hit their targets. He spots Tim by the door, eyes warm and beckons him over. 

“Having fun?” Tim asks him as Roy slings an arm around his shoulders. He smells like sweat. So do the other two.

“I haven’t shot a bow in years.” He pants, and Tim realises he’s being used as a leaning post while Roy catches his breath. The other two look just as exhausted, and the redhead gestures at them to go take a break. “Darts don’t count.”

“You smell.” Tim says, wrinkling his nose.

“Archery’s hard work, runt.” He grins and tugs on Tim’s ear. Then narrows his eyes at him. Tim arches a brow. Roy lets go of him to grab a bow on one of the racks. He grabs up one of Red Robin’s hands and peels off the glove. Tim shoots him a pointed look.

“Oh come on, it’ll be fun.” He pulls on Tim’s hands and adjusts them on the bow. “Now, part your legs.” He’s dangerously close to Tim’s ear which makes Tim dangerously close to flushing. “Little more.”

He keeps adjusting Tim’s stance, pressing his hands against his shoulders, his back, nudging his hips, fixing his footing, and Tim can feel himself continue to tense, powerless to stop it.

Because Roy’s calluses are different to the ones he’s used to. His musculature is different, his training was different. Even the robotic arm seems to be humming as he adjusts Tim’s fingers.

He’s warm, too. And not just in his body temperature, it’s in his eyes. Tim swears he’s able to channel volcanic heat or something through them. Or maybe not volcanic, that’s Conner’s thing. That smile too. It radiates. Sometimes smugness, sometimes insecurity. It makes heat crawl up the back of Tim’s neck.

He’s dangerously close to shaking when Roy talks him through aiming, his mechanical pressed along his back, his flesh arm hovering over Tim’s left. Tim turns his head a little and Roy suddenly stops talking. 

Those green-blue eyes are, once again, trained on Tim’s lips. He can count the freckles -

Roy finishes his sentence with a quiet, distracted “...and you shoot.”

Tim wills himself to relax as inconspicuously as he can and licks his lips. Roy’s eyelids lower for a second, and there’s heat in his eyes. Tim lets the arrow fly without looking up. “Like that?”

The redhead opens his mouth, still staring at Tim’s before he blinks, and meets his eyes. “Um?”

Tim smirks, and pulls back. Roy glances at the target, perfect shot, and stands straight. “Uh.” he says.

Tim snorts, setting the bow back in it’s place. “Come find me when ready for maintenance.” He says before retreating. Rose and Jason are both laughing into their fists, and he hears Roy tell one of the ‘brats’ to ‘shut the hell up’ after he leaves. 

\--

He waits for another forty before deciding to go fetch Roy himself before the door swings open and Arsenal’s stuffing his cardkey into his pocket. He’s freshly showered. “Hey,” he says faintly, then proceeds to crawl up onto Tim’s bed and shove his face into a pillow. Tim scratches the back of his head, prompting a growl. 

“Rough night?

“Rough morning,” He corrects. He turns his head. “You know Rose likes Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“And Jason likes Rose, but he’s clueless about it?”

“Mm hm. She’s annoyed?"

“Frustrated. Poor kid. Poor me. Had me up at five in the morning talking to her about what ‘dumb, fucking cutie’ he is. I’m pretty much K.O’ed at this point, Red.”

Tim smirks, withdrawing his hand. “You can sleep. I’ll work on your arm later.”

“Nnngh, you’re a doll, Timmy.”

“Neither a doll nor a Timmy, Harper.”

“I’m too tired to banter with you, runt.” Roy drops his head back down and growls hopefully. “Rub my head some more?”

\--

Tim’s halfway through a granola bar when he feels eyes on him. He glances to his side, and sure enough, Roy’s staring up at him groggily. He yawns widely into the pillow. “I knew you ate sometimes.” he says.

“I’m not a robot, Roy. I eat.”

“That’s covered in chocolate.” he points out.

Tim bristles. “What’s your point?”

“You never eat chocolate.”

“It’s healthy chocolate.”

“Bullshit.” Roy laughs, shifting over on his side so he can lean up on his arm. “It’s too warm in here.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “You’re back to normal.”

Roy stretches on his bed, making a pleased sound when his joints pop. He throws Tim a wink when he catches him staring. “What can I say? naps do wonders.” he grins.

“Do you want me to look at your arm?”

“Wha--Oh, no. It’s fine. I had Virgil take a look at it earlier, before I got here.”

Tim arches a brow. “Why were so insistent that I tend to your arm, then?” he asks. 

Roy shrugs. “Wanted company.” The tips of his ears are pink, and the freckles on his face are starting to show. 

Tim prods his cheek with a finger. “You don’t need an excuse for company.” he says shortly, then purses his lips. “I’ve moved into Wayne Manor for the time being.”

Roy nods. “Good. You were lonely in that apartment on your own, I could tell.”

Meaning he’d heard from Jason beforehand. Tim feels a little vexed by the comment on his being alone. It implies that Roy was mostly pitying him when he visited.

“I wasn’t pitying you.” He sounds affronted, and Tim realises he’d been speaking out loud. “Hey, look. Tim. You’re my friend, right? Really kind of terrified me when you left and went god-knows-where and-”

“I’m not apologising--“

“I fucking know that, runt. Would you kindly calm down and listen to me?”

Tim--listens.

“I get worried that you’ll slip through the cracks or something, okay? That you’ll get injured and bleed out because there’s no one there to watch your back. Or that you’ll--“ Roy scowls hard. “You’ll get abducted. And no one’ll know about it until it’s too late.” He meets Tim’s eyes and he can’t really look away when they’re trained so intensely on him. “You’ve got no fucking idea how relieved I was when you finally started talking back when I gave you shit.”

Tim snorts despite himself. Feeling suddenly less hungry, he starts to set the unfinished bar on his nightstand when Roy interrupts. “Finish that.” he says quietly. “You’re too skinny already.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“It’s chocolate.” Roy says. “Eat it or I will.”

He picks it back up and starts chewing at a much slower pace. He arches a brow at Roy. “I’m eating.” 

Roy sighs. “Are you always this despondent after an emotional talk?”

Tim elbows him half-heartedly. “I’m not despondent.” He shrugs, then smiles a little. “Wow, you care.” Which isn’t really a surprise. Roy cares a lot more than he lets on. About Gar, about Rose, about Jason. And he’s told Tim about his insecurities, or at least the one’s that have been popping up lately. 

He bites his lips and slumps a little. “I--know. It wasn’t, uhh.” But what do Tim’s stupid problems have to do with Roy? “Can we talk about this some other time?” he asks hurriedly.

Roy blinks, clearly thrown, even as he says, “Yeah. Sure, whenever you want.” He breaks into a magnificent grin. “Actually I kinda feel like I owe for all the screaming and crying I did before, about Ollie and Speedy.”

Tim nudges him. “You don’t owe me anything.” he says. “You made me soup and bought me dinner already.”

“You complained about the carrots.”

“And I’ll keep complaining about them. It’ll be there on my tombstone, ‘Slain by Roy Harper’s uncooked carrots.’”

Roy snorts. “This is going to be another hot dog stand, isn’t it.” Sometime during his little outburst, he’d gotten close enough that Tim can feel his breath on his skin. He offers up the last bite of his bar. The redhead smirks, opens his mouth. Tim arches a brow as he pops the piece of granola smothered in chocolate into his mouth.

Roy chews. “Christ, is this a granola bar? Even your chocolates are healthy.”

“Told you. It was Jason’s idea. Apparently he couldn’t stand them unless they were covered in chocolate.”

“Maybe now you’ll grow.” Roy dodges the swipe at his head. “Isn’t Jason just about your height?” He catches Tim’s punch. “Aw, are you upset? Are you an angry bird?”

Tim barely keeps in his indignant screech. He elbows Roy in the stomach. “I’m not angry. And I’m not short-”

“You are kinda short--“

“Oh, fuck off--“

“But it works for you, runt-”

“Roy, I will kick you in the balls-”

“You’re totally fun-sized, portable even-“

Tim uses all of his strength to shove him off the bed, satisfied when he hears an “oof!” along with the thump of the redhead unceremoniously hitting the floor. He pointedly doesn’t help the asshole back up.

“Okay, rule number one,” Roy says. “Don’t tease an angry bird about his height.”

Tim crosses his arms. Roy raises an eyebrow. “And you’re still mad at me. Still an angry--“ Tim glares. “Still angry.” The redhead amends. He grins, clearly having too much fun at Tim’s expense to just drop it. “If you have a little more weight on you, you might have more presence--“

Somehow he’s snuck past Tim’s personal bubble, and prods his side, as if to emphasise his point by playing the xylophone on Tim’s ribs. Tim jolts a little and Roy eyes go wide.

“Holy shit,” He says, and Tim is praying to whatever deity that will lend him aid that Roy just drops the entire thing, but- “You’re ticklish.” The gods are unmerciful, and Roy sound like he’s discovered the eighth wonder of the world.

Tim scrambles to clamber off the bed because no, and when Dick had discovered he was ticklish he didn’t fucking stop until Batman said to, and no, and he regretted shedding his kevlar when he reentered his room and also no. He moves a fraction of a second too late. Roy’s already dragging him back and digging his fingers into Tim’s sides.

Tim’s howling with laughter even through his squeaks of “no, no, no, Roy no”, and tries to shoves at the arms holding him captive. There’s a lull and Tim takes it as an opportunity to catch his breath. He realises his shirts been rucked up a little, that the cold pressed up against his left is the mechanical arm and sees Roy poised above him. Tim watches in horror as he licks his lips and grins evilly. 

He shrieks when Roy blows raspberries on his stomach and curls in on himself, shoving weakly at his head. “Roy stop, I’ll kick you off the bed, I swear to god, Roy stop please--!!”

Roy stops, chuckling quietly into his skin while Tim lets his limbs go limp while he catches his breath. He tries not to shudder when feels Roy crawl up his body and perch himself up on his elbows over his face. The redhead lets the last few chuckles die down and stares down at him with a mixture of fondness, hesitation and something that could be insecurity that Tim really wants to smother.

“You’re worse than Dick.” he says.

Roy snorts, then glances at his lips, and really Tim’s playing a dangerous game because this is far too close-

“RR, I need--” The doors slams open and Nightwing’s using his respect-my-authority voice, Roy falls off the edge of the bed in surprise. Dick stops speaking briefly, then clears his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but we have an emergency, and I need as many teams as I can get.”

\--

There’s an earthquake in Bialya, and Nightwing’s called up as many squads as they can spare to get as many people out of there as they can. Arsenal and Red Robin are assigned to Gamma squad, along with Robin and Ravager.

Red Robin’s built in seismograph easily predicts aftershocks, but Tim knows it’ll be useless once they’re down in the basement of the collapsed buildings, where there are civilians waiting for rescue.

There’s a cave-in they didn’t anticipate, and after shoving Ravager out of the way, Red Robin tries to take cover under his (rather useless in this situation) cape.

\--

He awakens after the rockfall, and immediately grabs for his rebreather because he’s having trouble passing air into his lungs when he realises it has less to do with the collapse, and more to do with the fact that he’s being crushed by a pair of arms wrapped around him.

“Arsenal?” he croaks. “You’re uh, hurting me.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Roy’s voice is shaky, and he doesn’t loosen his grip even by an increment.

Tim brings his hands up to soothe over his arm. Roy’s a lot better than he was but trauma has a habit of not going away, so- “Are you injured?”

Roy barks out a surprised laugh. “I should be asking you.” He says, and finally loosens his grip enough for Tim to sit them up.

There isn’t much of a perimeter surrounding them that isn’t blocked by rocks. Tim spots a piece of his cape torn off, where Roy must have dragged him away from. There’s a hole at the top, uncovered. At least they weren’t in danger of running out of air.

“Signals are down.” Roy says. “I’m worried about Rose.”

“I tried to clear her of the rocks.”

Roy chuckles nervously. “Yeah, shoved her straight into Robin. She’s gonna like you even less now, r-runt.” He frowns at himself for stuttering. “Check your comm.?”

Tim checks. It’s down too. He shakes his head. Roy swears. Tim fiddles with the pads on his gloves. His index finger starts blinking red. “They’ll come for us.” Tim assures. 

Roy breathes out a sigh of relief. “You’re a lifesaver, Red.”

Tim wraps his hand around Roy’s wrist in a gesture he hopes is reassuring. “Robin has one, too.” he says. “And Batgirl’s on Beta. She’ll probably drop everything for him, if Nightwing doesn’t first.”

Roy shifts his hands until he’s holding Tim’s. “Do you think I could shoot us out of here?”

“That would probably cause another collapse.” Tim says slowly.

“I figured.” Roy snorts, sounding better.

\--

They hear a voice through the rubble. “Arsenal? Boss, where are you?”

Roy opens his mouth to answer but nothing comes out. Tim answers for him. “We’re fine, Ravager. Are either of you injured?”

“No, we’re okay.” her voice is muffled through the rubble. “Robin’s on the other side, looking for you. Should-should I try to move the rocks?”

Tim tugs on Roy’s hand. He’s the leader. And Rose sounds like she could use the reassurance. Arsenal clears his throat. “Listen, Rosie,” he says. “You and Robin are to find a way out of here and get above ground. Are we clear?”

“What about you?” she sounds worried.

“We’ll be fine.” Roy says, even as he gives Tim’s fingers a squeeze. He grins. “Red’s a little distressed, but we can wait. Get the hell out of here and go get help, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll get help.” 

Roy takes a deep breath, and once he can’t hear her footsteps anymore, he leans against Tim’s side. “I don’t mean to sound needy, Red, but--uh. Talk to me?”

Red Robin bite his lip. “About what?”

Arsenal shrugs. “The Governer. Buffy. Star Trek. Or--” he looks up at Red Robin’s eyelets. “How about what we supposed to talk about earlier before you had a panic attack?”

Tim snorts. “You’re the last one I’d expect to make light of panic attacks.”

“Ex-fucking-scuse you, I think I’m handling mine pretty damn well.”

Red Robin scratches the back of Roy’s neck. “You really are.”

Roy smirks. “Or I could talk loudly and in detail about Jaime and Bart’s sex life."

“No.” Tim says automatically.

“So spill, runt.”

“There’s nothing to spill.” Tim runs his thumb along the back of Arsenal’s gloved hand, hoping that someone would find them soon. 

“Mind if I ask you a question, then?” Roy says. “Where are your parents?”

Tim doesn’t talk for a very long time, instead fiddling with Roy’s fingers, deep in thought. He doesn’t consider himself weak by any stretch of the imagination, but compared to Roy-- he hasn’t been through a lot at all. 

Roy came back to a world that kept turning without him. He stubbornly refused any help when he was trying to get back on his feet, out of pride or fear, but still managed to scrape up the bits of himself he’d thought he’d lost and find a place he fit. Roy’s sense of self is something Tim admires greatly, and he’s still deeply surprised when Roy confides in him the little things that compromise that.

“Don’t mind me,” Roy says, cutting into his thoughts. “Just panicking about the walls closing in and never being found again.”

Tim brings both hands in to squeeze Roy’s. “I think...I don’t talking about my problems because they seem...petty. Compared to yours. Smaller, and frankly kind of stupid.” He glances at Roy’s eyelets.

Roy smiles a little hesitantly. “Not smaller, not stupid. Different, yeah, but.” He shrugs. “Tell me anyway?”

Tim hasn’t even talked to Dick about it. Last time he tried, he choked up, made up some excuse and hid out for a little while. “My parents died when I was about 14. They were vacationing in Haiti and um, were set upon by someone named the Obeah Man. I faked having an uncle in Bludhaven so Nightwing wouldn’t worry about it too much.” He takes a breath. “Um, I think between Batgirl and Nightwing, they found out a little before Batman did. By then I’d become an emancipated minor and um, didn’t need support.” He forces a smile. “Sometimes I think Dick wants to still hit me for that, but...there you have it.”

It’s hard to discern the expression behind Roy’s mask, after the furrowed brow, but his grips goes lax before it tightens again. “Jesus, Tim.” he says.

“It’s okay. I’m pretty used to living on my own.” Red Robin bites his lips again, “They weren’t home very often to begin with. It, ah, made it easier to go out at night and follow Batman and Robin around.”

Roy’s mouth falls open. “You--what?”

He grins. “Another time? I’m kind of exhausted actually,”

“Christ, Tim, if I’d known, I’d--“

“Please don’t threaten to beat up my dead parents, Dick does that enough.” Bruce also gets this tight-lipped look of I-want-to-hit-something whenever Tim mentions his parents.

“I was gonna say kidnap you, but yeah. That too.” Roy sits up a little. “C’mere.” he holds Tim’s hands with his mechanical one and wraps his flesh arm around Tim’s shoulders. Tim rests his head on Roy’s shoulder. He feels the redhead press his cheek against Tim’s hair. “Thanks for telling me.”

Tim blushes. “I don’t suppose we can never bring it up again?”

Roy gives his shoulders a squeeze. “We’ll see. How long ago did you send that signal?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Feels like an hour.” Roy mutters into his hair. He chuckles a little. “Hey, you want me to growl?” 

Tim stomach drops. How the hell did he know about the...thing he had for Roy’s growl? He hadn’t told a soul about it. “Uhh, what?” he fights to keep his voice from going high-pitched.

“Nothing.” Arsenal says, nervously, cheerfully.

“I am missing a lot of chunks from that particular week.” Tim says. “You can. You can stop hugging me now. I’m okay.” He pats Roy’s back awkwardly. 

“Maybe I need it.”

Oh. Well, that’s different then. Tim curls around him, just a bit, and Roy carefully presses his cheek against his. His skin is warm to the touch, like always. One he relaxes, Tim feels Roy smile against his cheek. “Maybe you need it, too?”

“Maybe you need to shut the hell up.” Tim sighs.

Roy snickers because he’s a bastard. “Like I said. Despondent.”

“I’m not above knocking you out until we’re back at base, Arsenal.”

Without warning, Roy turns his face, pressing his nose against Tim’s cheek. “You’re doing a great job of keeping me from panicking, Red.” He says, lips brushing against his skin. “Like, really, really great. Remind me to give you a medal, or a promotion or something.”

Tim’s brain is a little too scrambled to think of a smart comeback when he can feel Roy’s breath against his cheek. He stills completely, willing himself not to squeak or flush or bite his lip. He feels his resolve trip over itself when Roy moves his face in slow deliberate nuzzle. 

Then, he growls.

All at once, Tim flushes, shiver visibly and jerks his head away. He can feel Roy’s eyelets on him and wills his pulse to stop thrumming and his flush to crawl back from whence it came but--

Roy’s hand is tangled with his own. His arm is still around his shoulders. He’s still framing Tim, practically draping himself around him.

“Tim, I think we need to talk.” It comes out hushed, hasty and a little strangled.

Tim tries to look at the redhead in the face, feels dread clog up his lungs and focuses instead at their joined hands. “It can wait.” he says, disgustingly calm.

Roy’s sigh is strangely indulgent. “I’m never gonna be able to bring this up again, runt.”

Tim swallows around the lump building in his throat and finds a piece of rubble to concentrate on. “What do you want to talk about?” He tries to keep his voice neutral, but only succeeds in sounding flat and annoyed.

The redhead presses on regardless. “You and me. Us.” He pauses, and Tim can feel his eyes on him. In his peripheral vision, he sees a dull flash of white, meaning Roy’s mouth his open or he’s biting his lip. “I’ve been putting this off for a while. Like, a damn long while.” 

Another pause, then quietly, in the most pathetically sad voice, Roy says. “I kind of need to you to look at me right now, Tim.” 

He inhales sharply, and suppresses a shudder when he turns to look up at him. He winces. Roy’s mask does very little to hide the deep furrow in his brow, and he can tell the redhead’s eyes are narrowed behind the eyelets. Tim fights hard to keep the anxiety off his face and chest. He doesn’t trust himself not to whimper or babble or do something equally unhelpful, so he keeps his mouth shut. Roy slides a hand to the small of his back.

“Look,” he says, quietly, firmly. “I’ve been hitting on you since you got back from-- wherever the hell you went. And I just--I’m-“ he blows out a sigh, then continues, “I mean, we share beds. Fucking single beds at that, and you share your food with me. We go on dates--post-patrol dates and whatever but, yeah. Still dates.” His voice turns a hair quieter.

“I know all your favourite shows. I ate the pickle from your burger, then the rest of the thing too. I bought you dinner once, and we fought about the fucking bill. You fed me dumplings then shoved your fingers in my mouth. I practically molested your legs-“ He stops to lick his lips. “I fuck with you all the time, and you never tell me off for it. Not seriously, anyway. You’re there when I bitch about my stupid problems-“

“They’re not stupid.” Tim protests because they’re not-

“You’re one of first people I let near my arm. I’ve seen you babble like a fucking moron about dumb computer shit and movies and-” His voices cracks a little, then he clears his throat. “And it’s cute. Sexy. And sometimes you get this look on your face like you wanna hit me, and then you get this other look on your face like---like-- I don’t know. And you always let me blow shit up when we’re out, and that’s kind of wonderful. It fucking tore me up when you ditched but--“ He shakes his head. “Look, what I’m actually trying to fucking say is--“

Tim cuts him off, clambering up on his knees and pressing his lips to Roy’s. Roy, for the most part, rolls with it, rolls with Tim, until he’s on his back being straddled. The grit is probably scratching at the back of his head and arms, but he doesn’t seem to care at the moment. He seem much more preoccupied with returning the kiss and tilting his head enough to make it deeper.

Rock shifts and voices are heard from beyond the collapse, calling for them. Tim pulls back from Roy and takes a deep breath before lightly punching the redhead’s armoured chest. “I need time.” He says, still dreadfully calm.

The face Roy makes--the horribly sad, vulnerable, hurt face-- is going to follow Tim home and haunt him for a good while.

\----


End file.
